My touch is gentle, almost reverent, as I help her shift her weight forward toward the arm of the couch. This leaves the entirety of her ass exposed and ready for the lotion.
I squirt some onto my palm and gently massage the lotion in. The skin is hot, sensitive. I'm careful, my movements slow, deliberate. I don't want to cause her more pain. I want to soothe her, to comfort her.
Regardless, it's going to leave a bruise. A small one, anyway.
Her body relaxes under my touch, her muscles unclenching. She's letting me in, letting me care for her.
"Is that better?" I ask.
"Yes," she whispers. "It feels... nice."
"Good. We'll put an ice pack on it after you eat. Your pussy too."
Even facing away from her, I see the flush rush over her skin. Amused, I decide to ignore it.
"It will reduce the swelling. And you're going to be very, very sore tomorrow."
I finish with her ass and say, "Turn around."
She does, a slow, hesitant movement. She pulls the towel up to cover her breasts, a small, defensive gesture. She's still shy, still trying to hide.
I ignore her attempt at modesty and pull the towel away before tossing it behind the couch.
I take her chin in my hand and force her eyes to mine. "This is the last time. I will not say it again. Do not hide from me." My tone is firm and leaves no room for argument. "If you do it again, I take away your clothes privileges."
Her eyes round, the blue filling with panic. But she doesn't look away.
I tighten my grip on her chin. "Understood?"
She gives a short, stiff nod.
"Words, Erica."
"Yes... sir." The word comes out as a choked whisper.
I let go of her chin and grab the lotion again. Her chest rises and falls with a shaky breath as I start with her shoulders. My hands move down her arms, over the soft skin, the fine bones. My fingers skim over her collarbones, her shoulders, the delicate curve of her neck.
My hands move lower, skimming over her breasts. The nipples pucker instantly, hard, tight pebbles against my palm. Her breath catches, a soft, needy sound.
I don't linger there. I move down her stomach, my hands smoothing the lotion into her skin. I can feel the frantic flutter of her pulse, a rapid, bird-like beat against my palm.
When I'm done, I sit back and look at her. Her skin is soft, glowing, a faint, sweet scent of coconut in the air. She's a sight to behold, sitting on the couch, naked, covered in lotion, and utterly mine.
I leave her there and go back into the bathroom to grab the two robes hanging behind the door. I throw my towel somewhere on the floor and put mine on before walking back out with the second one.
I help her into the soft, terry cloth robe. She's still limp, pliant. She lets me move her limbs, her body a doll to be positioned.
"Now. Food." I wheel the cart to the sofa and unload all the dishes onto the low coffee table in front of us.
I take a seat next to her and lift the lids on the various plates.
"I had them send up a bit of everything. There's a fruit and cheese plate, a burger and fries, pasta with shrimp and a creamy sauce, and a club sandwich." I gesture to the table. "What do you want?"
She just stares at the spread of food like she's never seen it before.
"You need to eat. You need to replace the energy you spent. Otherwise, you'll feel worse tomorrow. You're not going to sleep until you've eaten enough to satisfy me."
My firm tone seems to snap her out of her daze. She looks at the food, then at me, her expression unreadable.
